


Tools of the Trade

by phoenike



Series: The Leonardo Effect [3]
Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: M/M, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-23
Updated: 2013-03-23
Packaged: 2017-12-06 06:01:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/732239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phoenike/pseuds/phoenike
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ezio stumbles on something unexpected. A flashback written for my story "The Leonardo Effect".</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tools of the Trade

**Author's Note:**

> Beta read by [MidnightMoonCat](http://www.fanfiction.net/u/3345844/MidnightMoonCat). No actual Leo/Ezio action in this, just innuendo and Ezio being clueless (again).

**Repubblica Fiorentina 1480**

The day was far too hot to be running from guards over the rooftops, but Ezio’s boredom had gotten the better of him.

Well, at least he fared better in the heat than his pursuers, what with having left most of his armor behind in his hideout, and the white color of his clothes. He was sure that when he’d last checked, one of the guards had fainted and crumpled to the roof. But even Ezio was starting to tire. He looked around for a quick exit from the chase.

By now, he knew almost every roof and free-run route in Firenze by heart. Not for any particular reason, he chose one of them, muscle memory carrying him as much as conscious thought. There, a jump from the roof of a guildhouse and leaping and swinging down a series of beams and horizontal flagpoles, then launching himself over the abyss of a crowded street, toward the roof terrace of a palazzo. With practiced ease, he grabbed the lattice of the pergola that covered it, and dropped inside.

He fell straight into the middle of perfumed, soft bodies, draped over chairs and cushions. A dozen pairs of female eyes turned toward him from within the cool shade.

For a second everyone just stared. Then the screaming started.

“ _Chiedo venia, bello mio!_ ” Ezio struggled to get past. But flailing limbs, furniture and flower pots blocked his way. Someone threw an embroidery frame at him. “ _Merda..!_ ”

He spun on his heel. The scent of flowers and perfume threatened to overwhelm him.

Then an imperious female voice spoke.

“Silence!”

Immediately the screaming started to die down. Ezio turned toward the speaker. He saw a slender _gentildonna_ of chestnut hair and straight back rise from a stool, graceful like a queen, and point toward a corner.

“Hide there. Quickly.”

With a hasty bow, Ezio crossed the room, which he was now allowed to do by its occupants. He threw himself behind a painted divider and crouched, his back pressed to a trellis of blooming wisteria. In preparation of being discovered, he pulled out his stiletto, triggered his hidden blade, and tried very hard to control his breath.

Almost immediately, going by the clatter of armor, a couple of panting guards hauled themselves into the terrace. The women started screaming again, drowning the men’s surprised curses and shouts for order. This time the _gentildonna_ — the lady of the house, if Ezio wasn’t entirely mistaken — took her time to calm down her companions.

“You!” she said at last, when the screams had again withered to sobs and occasional cries for mercy. Her voice was loud and clear, obviously used to command. “What is the meaning of this? Why do you trespass and bring arms into my house?”

Ezio could almost hear the men’s slack-jawed surprise. Well, at least he wasn’t the only one momentarily befuddled by the abundance of scantily clothed females.

Then one of the men spoke gruffly. “ _Mi dispiace,_ Signora. We’re chasing an enemy of the state.”

“Well, why are you just standing there, then? He went that way!”

“ _Grazie,_ Signora.” Ezio heard the men’s boots scuffle against soft carpets. One of them tripped on something, crashing down what sounded like metal plates and a wine pitcher. There were more shrieks and moans of dismay before he could regain his dignity and apologize. Then the guards scrambled away from the terrace and jumped to the opposing roof, waving for their comrades to follow. After a while, all of them had disappeared towards Santa Trinita.

“I believe you can come out now, _assassino,_ ” the _gentildonna_ said.

Ezio sheathed his weapons. He stood up and stepped into view from behind the divider, to a chorus of startled breaths and mutters.

The terrace was cool and airy, perfect for a lazy afternoon of socializing. The thick carpet of vine that clung to the lattice above did not let direct sunshine through, but even so, many of the ladies wore wide-brimmed hats to protect themselves from the horror of a tan. Little tables were arranged about, with wine, fruits and confections, as well as game boards and other vehicles of entertainment.

Most of the women were still grasping their foreheads and breasts, fans a-flutter to cool down heightened humors. Wherever Ezio looked, he saw heaving bosoms, round, bare arms and legs draped in sheer cloth. As a younger man, he might have mistaken the ladies for courtesans, but now he knew better. These were noblewomen, every one of them, the costly fabrics, pearls, coral necklaces, gold rings and an air of lofty superiority giving them away. Due to his dealings with Paola and her girls, Ezio was no longer in danger of becoming completely useless in the company of beautiful women, but even so, he felt something of a brute spelled by magic into what seemed the secret seraglio of some faraway sultan’s palace.

The dark-haired _gentildonna_ who stood in the middle of the terrace did not seem frightened in the least. Ezio bowed, not entirely having forgotten the lessons of his dancing master.

“Signora.” While raising his head, he examined her from a silk-slippered foot to a very well-formed figure draped in clinging white cotton and rose silk, and finally a pleasing face of indeterminate age, no longer that of a girl, but not ravaged by age or an excess of poisonous makeup, either. Her hair was braided with silk scarfs and coiled into an intricate coiffure that embellished her long, slender neck.

“I am in your debt,” he continued. “Would you allow me the pleasure of your name?”

“Fiametta. Well met, _assassino_.” Her throaty voice sent shivers down his spine. She offered him her fingers, heavily covered in precious rings. He stepped forward to take them in his gloved hand and bend to kiss them. _Very high born... and perhaps one who likes danger?_

Well, in for a soldi, in for a florin. “Ezio Auditore, at your service, Signora Fiametta.” He looked at her from beneath his hood, and allowed his voice to drop a note. “ _Entirely_ at your service.”

His audacity earned him a promising curl of red lips.

“You insult my intelligence, _assassino_. I doubt there is anyone in Firenze who doesn’t know your name.”

“Insult a woman of your worth? Signora, I would rather throw myself from the Campanile.”

The smile was accompanied by an approving sweep of her gaze over his broad shoulders and tight midsection. Then Madonna Fiametta reclaimed her hand and turned. “Such a well-behaved young man. A friend of yours, is he not, maestro da Vinci?”

 _What..?_ Ezio’s head snapped in the direction where she’d spoken. He straightened, astounded that he hadn’t noticed before who had been sitting in one corner of the terrace.

“Leonardo! What are you doing here?!”

The artist stood up and brushed invisible dust from his clothes. “I think it should make more sense for _me_ to ask that question,” he said mildly. If the papers and pencils scattered around him were anything to go by, he’d been sketching in his corner for quite a while. Clothed in a light blue doublet, white chausses and black boots, he looked impeccable as always. Not a single hair was out of order in his golden mane or close-trimmed beard. Only the ever-present stains of ink and paint on his hands marred the illusion of perfection.

“But I guess that if a dozen beautiful women gather somewhere, it shouldn’t come as a surprise to find you nearby, _amico_ ,” Leonardo continued.

Ezio laughed and walked to his friend, and shook him by the shoulders. “ _You’re_ one to talk, _fratello!_ You were here first.”

Leonardo smiled, if a bit dryly. Ezio knew very well that his friend was a perfect gentleman and more interested in artistic and intellectual pursuits than chasing women. The _donna_ of the house obviously knew it as well — why else would she have invited Leonardo to what was clearly a private and very informal gathering of female friends? Surely no one wanted slobbering lechers to disturb such get-togethers.

“I have been commissioned by the esteemed Madonna Fiametta to paint her portrait,” Leonardo said. “I was invited to make sketches.”

Knowing Leonardo, those sketches and perhaps a half-finished canvas three years from now would be all that the lady ever received for all her money. But hiring Leonardo had other benefits. He was good-looking, intelligent, outgoing, knowledgeable and made very pleasant company, and being his patron entailed the prerogative to invite him to useless functions. Such as this one. Ezio looked around.

Well, perhaps not _entirely_ useless.

Some of the women were starting to get over their shock and whisper among each other behind their fans. The sight and smell of so many sheerly clothed females was almost too much to bear for a healthy young man, more so since some of them were truly attractive. How on earth was Leonardo able to concentrate on working in the middle of this embarrassment of riches? Ezio himself was starting to feel dizzy.

Signora Fiametta now seemed as curious as a cat.

“So it is true what they say?” she asked. “That the two of you are... friends?”

“Very much so,” Ezio said with genuine pride. For some reason, Leonardo went red.

“Ahem... we do go back several years, _sì,_ Madonna.”

“Ah.” She smiled. Then she turned and clapped her hands. “My friends, I think it is time to call this meeting to an end. Please, let us not be sad that we must depart. I shall invite you all again next week.”

“Oh, Fiametta!” “Spoilsport..!” The women got on their feet. There was a lot of bustle and flurry as they gathered their belongings and put their dress in order. It took quite a while for them to get out, with each of them taking their farewells of the mistress. Ezio watched their exodus with something like wistful regret.

With only himself, Leonardo and the lady of the house remaining, the terrace felt infinitely more spacious and peaceful. Aside from them, a mute servant woman waited patiently near the door. Madonna Fiametta turned back towards the men, whom she had beckoned to stay behind. For a moment she just watched, her look turned from intrigued to outright bold. Ezio was starting to feel very warm indeed, and not because of the sun’s heat. The day was promising to turn... interesting.

“The two of you make quite the pair,” she said, at last.

After starting in Uncle Mario’s training, Ezio had grown quite a bit, and was now only a few inches shorter than Leonardo, who towered over most men — but much heavier, what with the physical demands of his trade. At some point, he’d been afraid that he was starting to resemble an uncouth galley slave rather than a nobleman, but he’d quickly learned that women did not seem to mind. In fact, it appeared that they found his barbaric muscles exotic and exciting. Leonardo, on the other hand, looked the perfect courtier as always, even if Ezio knew that he was strong enough to bend an iron bar with his bare hands.

“Perhaps you would accompany me downstairs for some... conversation?” Madonna Fiametta said. “Surely there is no reason for us not to become even better friends than we are.“

Ezio smothered a wide smile, endeavoring to look a man of the world and not the over-excited _ragazzo_ he felt. But Leonardo raised his hands in apology. “Madonna, I beg your pardon. For me, it is impossible.”

She cast a long look between the two men. “Ah. So it is true that —”

“ _Mia bella Signora!_ I just have pressing matters I must attend to!” Leonardo bowed. “May I return later, to speak with you concerning the specifics of our agreement?”

Ezio had a strange feeling that something unspoken passed between the two. Then Madonna Fiametta sighed. “Very well. You may go, maestro.”

Leonardo went to bow over the lady’s hand and murmur his undying gratitude. When he walked across the terrace to gather his drawing supplies, Ezio pardoned himself and went as well, as if to help him.

“Are you sure?” he whispered. “I know you’re not much for the act itself, but don’t you want to watch? You know. For professional interest?”

Leonardo caught his foot on a stool and would have fallen, had Ezio not been there to grab his arm. Truly, for someone whose hands were capable of creating such marvelous things, the man could be a hopeless, absent-minded klutz. He walked into door posts and furniture when Ezio was talking to him, and often just stared at a part of him and didn’t hear a word he said. Once, quite recently, Leonardo had even slipped and hit his head bad enough to black out for a moment when Ezio had been taking off his shirt to get a small cut stitched.

“I’m sorry, Ezio. I don’t think I can.” They straightened. Ezio handed over the papers he’d collected, and leaned over to murmur in Leonardo’s ear.

“You don’t know what you’re missing.” From the corner of his eye, he watched Madonna Fiametta give orders to her servant. Her every gesture spoke of the grace and confidence she’d undoubtedly bring to the privacy of her bedchamber. “I’ve been told I’m getting quite good at it. And women her age are so much better than young girls. I bet I can make her scream my name. Maybe after the third time she comes? I’ll even make a bet with you, my friend.”

Leonardo was blushing. “Ezio, we’ve had this conversation before...”

“Relax, you old prude, I’m just teasing you.” Ezio grinned to hide a familiar disappointment, and clapped his friend on the shoulder. “I will come to see you later, _amico?_ ”

“Ah. I have in fact something I must give you. A late birthday present, if you will.”

“Oh?” Ezio raised his brows.

“Later. She’s watching...”

 _What does it matter if she watches?_ Ezio turned to see Madonna Fiametta looking at them. Her expression was quite intrigued. _Ah, what a shame. One day I’ll figure out how to make you experiment, my friend._

“ _Assassino_ ,” she said. “Are you in as great a hurry as your friend?”

“Signora.” Ezio walked closer, and held a hand to his breast. “Perhaps you would be kind enough to offer a tired assassin some refreshments and the comfort of a cool room?”

“My house has several very well ventilated _cameras_. But may I suggest the bath downstairs? It is a most pleasant place for relaxing after strenuous activities in hot weather. Which I’m sure you’ve already had your share of, today, if you are truly as tired as you say.”

“I recover fast, _bella mia_. From... all kinds of activities.”

She stepped closer, close enough for him to smell her perfume. “Bold words. But a fighting man should have more than mere stamina. Battle does require _la finezza_ , after all.”

“Madonna, you wound me with your suspicions. Few have called me lacking in skill.”

In lieu of an answer, she stood on her toes and held his neck through the cowl and kissed him — right there, with Leonardo still making his way toward the door. For a heartbeat, Ezio hesitated. Then he pulled her to him, only with effort pacing himself not to appear like a bumbling idiot. She tasted of sweet wine and spice, and felt every bit as supple beneath her robes as he’d imagined. But her beauty was not all that made Ezio’s blood boil. With a guilty pang he realized that he was getting off on the awareness of Leonardo watching.

After a while she pulled back.

“Youth, passion _and_ self-restraint. I think I like you, my young bird of prey,” she murmured.

“I aim to please, Madonna.” Ezio realized she was not watching him, but over his shoulder. He turned his neck to see Leonardo looking everywhere except the two of them, the drawing supplies wrapped in a cloth under his arm, a red pillbox hat in one hand. Ever the gentleman, he had not had the temerity to exit without saying farewell to his patron.

“Signora Fiametta.” Leonardo bowed, somewhat less elegant than Ezio was used to. “With your permission, I take my leave.” He flopped the hat on his fair curls and almost tripped again on his way out. The door banged closed behind him.

“Is he always that shy?” Madonna Fiametta asked, her arms still around the assassin’s neck.

“I’m afraid so...”

“Ah. _Peccato_. Now, where were we..?”

They did make it to the bath downstairs, eventually.

o o o

Very late that night, Ezio knocked on Leonardo’s door, and stepped in at the familiar muffled answer.

Inside the workshop, he found Leonardo hunched above a candle-lit desk, juggling a protractor, two rulers and a weird hand-sized box, while drawing something with what seemed a completely unnecessary precision. It was still quite warm, and the maestro was in shirtsleeves, and wore his fair hair tied to his neck.

“Just a moment,” Leonardo said, and continued to work.

Ezio knew that after those words, it could take anything from a count of ten to half the night before his friend noticed his presence again. He fell into a chair — an Oriental luxury with cushions, shapely back and curving arms. Most Fiorentino chairs were hard, simple things, but this one was comfortable enough to sleep in, if one so wished.

Leonardo’s pen rustled against the paper. Occasionally he mumbled something under his breath and scratched his head, pausing to think, with his eyes directed at something but not really seeing. Ezio sprawled in the chair and gazed up at the rafters, tired of the day’s various exertions. Soon, his awareness started to drift.

At the verge of falling asleep, he was roused by Leonardo’s voice.

“What?” Ezio looked up, and rubbed his eyes.

Leonardo had put aside his tools and was watching him with a lopsided smile, elbows propped on the table. “Did you find your afternoon satisfactory?”

“Well.” Ezio grinned through his sleepy daze. “A very interesting woman, this new patron of yours. She wanted me to pretend she’d found me breaking into her house. Then I had to force her to satisfy my barbaric lusts.”

It was Leonardo’s turn to look at the ceiling. “I can’t believe I asked.”

 _Should I make him blush?_ Ezio turned his voice deliberately lewd. “She told me to cut her clothes with the hidden blade. I must admit, it was kind of exciting. And sweaty, too, since I had to take her with my clothes on. Well, for the first time. We moved to the bath at some point.”

As predicted, Leonardo’s freckled cheeks were turning a becoming shade of pink.

“She didn’t scream my name, though, just _assassino_ or _stronzo_ or _canaglia._ Maybe I should join a troupe? I think I have a talent for acting.”

Leonardo closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “You enjoy making fun of me, don’t you, _ragazzo?_ ”

Ezio laughed. “Just because you make it far too easy, my friend.”

“What is it with you and women?” Leonardo waved his hand. “You fall out of the sky, dirty and unshaven, stinking of sweat, and they think you’re the greatest marvel after Veneziano hair bleach. You’re only one and twenty and it’s already a miracle Firenze isn’t full of little Ezio Auditores.”

Despite his somewhat inflated ego, Ezio wasn’t conceited enough not to have wondered about the question, himself. “Well. I seem to know what women want. Then I make them think it was my idea all along. I’m willing to try everything and usually like it, so pleasing others is easy.”

Leonardo, who had obviously not been expecting a serious answer, looked at him with an inscrutable expression. “Everything?”

“Well. _Almost_ everything. There was this one very pretty lady who had a passion for... ugh, I don’t even want to think about it.” Ezio shuddered. “Oh well. Then there are of course my good looks and my huge —” He gestured toward his groin, flashing white teeth.

Leonardo groaned.

“I’m happy we agree that my new benefactor is a remarkable woman.” His tone was dry, but his red face belied his attempts at dignity.

Tormenting Leonardo was far too much fun, but Ezio decided to have pity on him.

“You told me you have something for me?”

“ _Ah, sì!_ ” Leonardo brightened, and got on his feet. “Wait a moment. I have it right here.” He went to a nearby workbench and soon came back with something in his hand. It was half again a handspan long and wrapped in soft cloth. Ezio sat up.

“What is it?”

“Ah, well. Perhaps I should have asked you first. The idea came upon me suddenly, and I just started working, and... well, here it is, see for yourself.” He shoved the packet to Ezio and retreated, rubbing his neck.

Ezio raised a brow. He had no idea what to expect and it was not usual for Leonardo to appear so nervous. But when he unwrapped the cloth, he was even more surprised than he’d expected. Actually he was too astonished to speak for quite a while.

“It’s another Codex blade,” he said, at last, probably sounding even dumber than he felt.

“Yes, for your right hand. I’ve been working at it for a while, now. Was it a silly idea?”

Ezio held the weapon in his fingers like something precious. Its construction was lighter than that of the original, with no bracer, only a harness to support the mechanism and the blade beneath. But it was just as beautiful, with the mark of Leonardo’s mastery in every little detail, from the carved wheel to the last leather strap and buckle.

“Leonardo... my god, you’re a genius!”

The man seemed cautiously pleased. “So, you think you can use it?”

“You think you have to _ask?_ ” Ezio turned the thing in his hands, amazed. He’d thought it impossible to duplicate the spring-blade. Even Uncle Mario knew nothing of the blacksmiths who had forged them for their predecessors. Giovanni’s blade was ancient, a century old at least. And now Leonardo had reproduced it with just a few sketches and his memory to work on.

“Did I already say you’re a genius?”

“Well. I’ve heard it, once or twice.” Leonardo chuckled. “I did not make _all_ of it myself. I have no idea how to forge a blade, so I had the metal work done by someone I know. He should be one of the best in Firenze, though — he was taught in Brescia. But the design is mine. I hope it fits. I found the measurements from the last time I worked on your other blade, but human arms are seldom exactly the same. In fact my research shows that the dominant arm is usually thicker than the other. Do you want to try it?”

It was like asking if Ezio wanted to make love to a beautiful woman. “Are you mad? Of course I want to try it!” He gave the blade back to Leonardo and stood up. He removed his gloves and the simple leather bracer he used on his right arm, then unbuttoned his shirt cuff and rolled up his sleeve. The arm he revealed was much different from when, as a skinny seventeen-year old lad, he’d received his first hidden blade. Since then, he had turned out to take after Uncle Mario rather than the wiry and elegant Giovanni, and the device had had to be refitted several times, owing to the increasing thickness of his arm.

He offered his hand to Leonardo. There was a bit of adjusting and muttering as the man worked to get a perfect fit, but soon enough he was done.

It felt strange to have that weight on both his arms, and at the same time, instantly familiar. Ezio raised his hand to take a look, and triggered the blade. It sprung from its sheath as if thirsty for first blood. The sharpened outer edge glinted in the candlelight, even if the body of the blade was dulled not to shine and reveal him. Truly, it was the work of a master blacksmith, working on a design by the most brilliant man he knew.

“I can make you a bracer later, should you wish,” Leonardo said from where he was putting away the wrapping. “I wanted to see that the harness fits, first.”

Ezio’s retracted the blade. His throat felt tight. “ _Grazie_ , my friend.” The words were completely inadequate, but he had no idea how else to begin to express his gratitude.

“ _Non c’è di che._ Now, don’t injure yourself when practicing, _scimmietta_. I don’t want to patch you up just because you’re clumsy.”

Ezio knew that Leonardo was perfectly aware that he could juggle knives and burning torches. Also, run a tightrope, walk on his hands and bend his feet to the back of his head. Uncle Mario had had him train with some _very_ interesting people. “Who knows,” he said. “Maybe you should keep those bandages ready. You know I can’t even shave without cutting myself.”

“In that case, I want the first finger you separate from your hand. For research.”

“Well, at least you didn’t offer to hack them off yourself, this time.”

Leonardo chuckled at the reminder of how he’d once tricked a very young and rather more gullible Ezio. “I’m just glad you liked my gift.”

Ezio looked down at the blade, sobering. For a moment he fidgeted with his sleeve, rolling it back down, and finding that his cuff was too tight to button over the harness. He’d have to have all his shirts fixed. Not that there were too many.

After a moment, he found himself speaking. “What I do not understand is... Well, it is a thing for murdering people, Leonardo. And you’re a man of peace.”

Leonardo looked at Ezio over his shoulder, and turned to lean against the desk, arms crossed. “I’ve helped you for years, now. Why this sudden concern?”

Ezio shrugged, unusually self-conscious. “Maybe I was too young and selfish to think about it before. I care for you. I do not want you to do anything you’ll regret.”

“Ezio, I’ve read the Codex pages you bring. I know that your enemies would deprive us of our free will. Without my freedom to think I would be nothing, or at least a horribly miserable person. Why would I not want to fight such a fate? I appreciate your concern, _ragazzo_ , but it is not necessary. Do not worry on my behalf. I have made my peace with my conscience.”

Ezio thought for a moment, and nodded. “I’m fortunate to have you as a friend, _mio fratello_.”

Leonardo smiled. But for a moment, it seemed wan, and the look in his eyes appeared distant. For the first time, Ezio wondered if Leonardo’s smile did not hide behind it some great sadness.

**Author's Note:**

> I moved my version of the scene a couple of years forward, so Ezio would no longer be a teenager. I imagine that the guys would have moved to Venice not many months after this. Fiametta probably never received her portrait.


End file.
